


The Cornerwitch

by intimacycaricature



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimacycaricature/pseuds/intimacycaricature
Summary: They call him the Cornerwitch. He's easy to find, really, if you know where to look.Alternatively, three times Jawn goes looking for magic and one time he doesn't.
Relationships: Awsten Knight/Jawn Rocha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	The Cornerwitch

**Author's Note:**

> i swear to god i have so many full-length things in the works that i could have posted but no. y'all get this. i am establishing a Brand of Weird Fuckin Fics and i guess i’m cool with that. i… don't love this one but figured i’d post it anyway. 
> 
> i want to make it clear this is not an original idea!! this fic is essentially a rewrite of a short wlw comic that is (as far as i know) untitled. you can read that for yourself [here!](https://charminglyantiquated.tumblr.com/post/113043123123/a-short-comic-about-witches-and-wishes-and-wanting) i would highly recommend it's one of my faves!! 
> 
> OH SHIT I JUST REALIZED ITS VALENTINES DAY. happy valentine's day this is a valentine's fic now ok cool. ok that's all read on mwah

They call him the Cornerwitch. He's easy to find, really, if you know where to look. 

Jawn knows. He hears about it from a friend of a friend of a friend, and curiosity gets the better of him. That's what he likes to tell himself, anyway: it's just curiosity. Others seek out the witch because they know he's a trader of magic. They know that for a price, he can give them anything they want. Not Jawn, oh no. He's different. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

The alley is not entirely easy to find. That's the thing that makes this whole ordeal difficult: You cannot find the Cornerwitch just by following directions. But if you want to find him, you will. Eventually, Jawn does.

The witch is tucked into the darkest part of the alley, deep in the shadows but somehow not at all hidden. Jawn’s not sure what he was expecting. Perhaps an ancient elder, adorned in cloaks and bangles, carrying a big staff. Well, that's not what he gets. The Cornerwitch is a green-haired guy in skinny jeans, black boots, and a Good Charlotte hoodie. He doesn't exactly carry himself like someone imbued with power, rather, he leans casually against the brick wall, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Well, look at that,” he says, as if he was expecting Jawn. “You found me.”

“You… you're him?”

“Guess it depends on who you're looking for,” the witch replies. “Or maybe _what_ you're looking for.”

“I…” Jawn takes a few tentative steps closer. “I didn't think you were real.”

“Most people don't.” The witch smiles ruefully. “So. What is it you want?”

Jawn frowns. “Oh, I don't— I don't really _want_ anything, I just—”

“Oh, come on. Don't play like that,” the witch says, rolling his eyes. “You wouldn't have come looking if you didn't want anything.”

“What if I don't?”

“Then you'd be the first,” the witch says plainly. “C’mon. Everyone wants something.”

Jawn falls silent. He'd be lying if he denied it. He does have things in his life that magic could solve. Who doesn't? But now that he's here, it's not as simple as just demanding help. Magic comes at a price, and Jawn has no idea what he can pay, or for that matter what he's willing to pay. 

“It's not always some big monumental thing, y’know,” the witch says. “Not everyone comes to their first visit asking for instant wealth or the cure to depression. What's on your mind?”

Jawn huffs. He really _doesn't_ have anything in mind, nothing important really. He knows what the witch said, but he can't help but feel like a request for magic should be important. At the same time, leaving empty-handed would be a bit anticlimactic at this point. 

Not to mention, Jawn had a hard enough time finding the witch the first time. If he leaves with nothing, there's a decent chance he won't get lucky a second time. If he bargains for something, the pull of magic could lead him back. Although, he's not sure why it matters. His curiosity’s been satisfied, hasn't it? He doesn't need to come back. And yet… the thought of leaving here and never returning feels like a tremendous loss. He can't explain why. It just does.

He can think of something. It's small, it's _stupid_ , but it's something.

“Well… I just moved into a new apartment,” Jawn says reluctantly. “Still getting everything in. I guess it's a little… dark? And lonely. But mostly just dark.”

The witch seems to consider this for a moment, and then he nods.

“Okay, fair enough,” he says. “And what'll you pay?”

Jawn hadn't thought about that. He hadn't planned on leaving with anything. He may not know much about magic, but he knows how witches operate. Their currency is not money, but objects, moments, ideas. Things with abstract value.

“I don't suppose you take Venmo?” Jawn tries.

The witch actually does laugh a little at that, and steps closer to Jawn. He gives him a quick once-over before gently taking his wrist.

“Where'd you get this from?” He inquires, gesturing to the pony bead bracelet peeking out of Jawn's jacket sleeve. 

“The bracelet?” Jawn asks. He can hardly call it Kandi, it's just one row of mismatched colors. “Oh, I made that when I was, like, fifteen. It's nothing.”

The witch hums, keeping his light grip on Jawn's wrist. “Cute. What’d you make it for?”

“Trading,” Jawn answers honestly. “I was real into that sorta thing back then. I traded a bunch with my friends. Never this one, though. Probably ‘cause it's kinda shitty.”

The witch smiles. He runs the fingers of his free hand gently over the beads. From anyone else, Jawn thinks it would be creepy, but this guy’s aura is oddly calming. Almost peaceful.

“Would you mind if I kept this?” The witch asks. “You can say no, obviously, it's no big deal. But this can be your payment if you didn't bring anything else.”

Jawn frowns. “Why? It's just a plastic bracelet.”

“To you, maybe,” the witch says. “But you know what I see? The potential to form a strong bond. This could've been the bridge for a friendship that lasted decades. Just because it wasn't, doesn't give it any less power.”

“Oh,” Jawn breathes. “I… guess I never thought of it like that.”

The witch shrugs. “Magic hides in plain sight. It takes a while to get used to noticing it.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jawn says. He grins. “Gives a whole new meaning to PLUR, huh?”

“What?” The witch’s brow furrows.

“PLUR? Peace, love, unity, respect?” Jawn says awkwardly. “It's— never mind. Yeah, you can have it. Means more to you than it does to me.”

He slips the bracelet off his wrist and offers it to the witch. The other man takes it gingerly in his hands, like it's made of paper-thin glass rather than plastic beads from the craft store. He holds it in his palms like an offering, and Jawn's a bit confused until he blinks and the bracelet is simply gone. In its place is a simple black candle. It's not the creepy, witchy candle one might expect, but instead the kind in a glass jar that blends in well with just about any furnishings.

“Take this,” the witch says. “Light it with a match, not a lighter. It'll bring light to your home. Plus it smells nice, in my opinion.”

He gives it to Jawn, who immediately brings it up to his face. He's right, it does smell nice. He can't quite pinpoint what exactly the scent is, but it's familiar to him. But it's just a candle. It doesn’t seem like anything special. Jawn doesn’t want to come off as rude, but he was expecting something a little more… mystical.

“I don’t wanna seem ungrateful,” he whispers. “But is this really going to give off that much light?”

The witch laughs a bit, and luckily he doesn’t seem at all offended. “You’re not much of a believer, are you?”

“No, I am!” Jawn clarifies. “I just… I don’t know. I thought I’d be able to _feel_ something. It just feels like a candle.”

“You ever been around magic?” the witch asks. Jawn shakes his head. “You can’t feel it, not yet. You might later. But I promise you, you’ll feel something the first time you light it. I’m not in the business of selling people shitty spells. Give it a chance, okay?"

Jawn turns the candle over in his hands. Maybe it’s just a placebo, but if he focuses, he _can_ kind of feel a dull buzzing across his palms. He has faith in the Cornerwitch, and not just because of the rumors. He wants this to work so badly.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I trust you. I’m, uh… thank you.”

The witch gives no response except to look up at Jawn with a glint in his eye. It's the closest thing to a ‘ _you’re welcome’_ that Jawn thinks he's going to get, and it's a clear message that it's time for him to be on his way. He’s not entirely sure he wants to leave.

“Will I ever see you again?”

The question slips, half against Jawn's will, but he finds himself looking hopefully at the witch. The witch looks pensive, and there's a long pause before he responds.

“That's up to you,” he finally says. “People come to me, not the other way around. If it makes you feel better, most people do return for one reason or another. But between you and me? I hope I see you again.”

For now, it’s enough.

_____

Jawn lights the candle for the first time when he comes home. With a match, not his lighter, just like the witch says. The flame takes a moment to catch the wick, but when it does… holy shit. Jawn understands.

The lamps on his desk and near the couch had provided a dim, cramped-feeling light before. The candle changes everything, illuminating every corner of the room with a soft, homey glow. Jawn hadn’t been feeling bad before, per se, but something about it makes him feel lighter. Less trapped. And for the record, it still smells good, even though Jawn still can’t quite place what it smells like. He knows he shouldn’t leave an open flame unattended, but he gets the feeling it’ll be alright, just this once. He takes the candle to his bedroom and leaves it on his nightstand when he goes to bed. He sleeps better than he has in weeks, and when he awakens the next morning, he looks over just in time to see the candle quite unceremoniously extinguish itself. 

After that, he lights the candle every night after coming home. He doesn’t always leave it burning, especially because he doesn’t want to waste it, but the wax doesn’t seem to burn off like a normal candle might. He knows, at the rate he’s going, he should be more than halfway through the jar, but he’s barely made a dent. He likes to blow the candle out sometimes, just to watch the smoke curl towards the ceiling. If he looks closely, he can see a gentle shimmer among the soft gray. It’s perfect.

Sometimes, though, it brightens the room just fine, but doesn’t quite give him the relief of that first lighting. On those nights, he inexplicably finds himself thinking of the witch. Not extensively, just in passing really, but he’s still on his mind. Jawn wonders what he’s up to. Who he’s giving talismans to, what he gets in return. What he does with the things he trades for. A very quiet part of Jawn’s mind wonders if all the witch’s clients miss him the way he does right now. Perhaps that’s the pull of the magic, Jawn reasons. An even quieter part of him knows that it is not.

As the days go by, Jawn begins to sense a change. The candle still burns just as slowly, but it doesn’t work the way it used to. Every night, it illuminates less and less of the room, and when he blows it out, the sparkle in the smoke is harder and harder to see. Eventually, the candle only gives off the dim glow of one he might purchase in a store, and lighting it brings him nothing. He still lights it every night, but he knows it’s not enough anymore. About two weeks after first seeking out the Cornerwitch, Jawn decides it’s time to find him again.

_____

It’s harder to find the alley this time. Jawn takes a few wrong turns, peeks between a few wrong buildings. But eventually, he finds the place again. Sure enough, there the witch stands, in the same clothes as before, turning a coin over in his hand. He looks up at Jawn and beams.

“It’s you!” He pockets the coin and steps away from the wall. “I was wondering when you’d be back around.”

“You did?”

“Of course! I remember everyone who comes to me,” the witch says. “Did you come with something in mind this time?”

“The candle stopped working,” Jawn mumbles in lieu of an answer. “It’s not as bright anymore. Did you know that would happen?”

The witch’s smile fades. “Yeah, I did. I should’ve warned you about that, sorry. Magic doesn’t last forever.”

“Oh.” Jawn feels like he should’ve known that somehow. 

The witch is unfazed. “So? What are you here for?”

“It’s, uh— it’s kinda weird,” Jawn admits.

“Whatever it is, I’ve heard stranger things,” the witch says. “I can promise you that.”

Jawn sighs. “I just— do you ever just get sick of how easy it is for people to lie? I feel like it’s just… all the time. Nothing people say is real. I feel like I can’t trust anyone.”

“I get it. I can’t blame you.” The witch nods. “And what did you bring for me?”

Jawn reaches into his pocket and pulls out the photo he’d snatched off his bulletin board before he left. It’s a picture from a concert of a band that he’s long since forgotten the name of. It’s a decent photo. Jawn’s eye is better trained than it was when the picture was taken, and he can see now a million little things he could’ve done better.

“I’m a photographer,” he explains. “I love my job, man, seriously. I’ve been doing this for years. And, uh, this is the first picture I took on the first real camera I ever bought. I don’t have kids, so… that’s kind of like a firstborn, right?”

The witch laughs. Jawn realizes he’s kind of missed hearing him laugh. That’s weird. They’ve only met once, that’s weird, right? He shakes his head and passes over the photo instead of dwelling on it. The witch takes it and examines it closely.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “Yeah, this is perfect. Don’t go trading your first if you _do_ end up having kids though, ‘kay?”

Jawn smiles. “I won’t. Promise.” 

“Here—” The witch tucks the photo away and tugs one of his rings off his finger. It’s a thick gold band, adorned with a charm sculpted to look like an eye with a purple iris. “When you wear this, it'll help you see through the fog. Through the lies. It won't do anything for the trust thing, though. You gotta figure that out for yourself.”

“That’s the hardest part, isn’t it?” Jawn jokes.

“It always is,” the witch agrees. “But there are some things that even magic can’t fix.”

Jawn doesn’t have a response to that, but absently he wonders what else magic can’t do. Magic is supposed to be all-encompassing. Then again, he supposes the world would be a very different place, for better or worse, if magic could really do _anything_.

“Will that stop working too?” he asks instead. “Like the candle did?”

The witch shrugs. “Eventually, yeah. I can’t tell you when. Some people just react better with magic than others.”

Jawn takes the ring when it’s offered to him. He hasn’t decided yet whether it’s a good or bad thing that it won’t last. On one hand, it’s disappointing that it’ll only work for a little while. On the other hand, when it finally does lose its power… he can come back to see the witch. He certainly won’t complain about that. 

He can’t explain why he’s so drawn to the Cornerwitch. It’s not magic, he thinks he’d know if it was. No, it’s something different. Something about the witch keeps Jawn coming back, even when he doesn’t truly _need_ the things he asks for. He can go without a magic candle to light his apartment, or a magic ring to see through lies. He’s well aware of that. They’re not what he comes back for.

Jawn slips the ring onto his right ring finger when he leaves the alley. It feels, in a weird way, like a promise. To what, he’s not sure.

_____

The ring is perfect… for a little while. Much like the candle, it doesn't last. It helped Jawn see the truth in things, yes. But only for a little while. Eventually, it went dull and lost its potency. People's lies started to slip by him. Perhaps he's just not meant for magic. 

He returns anyways.

“Back again,” the witch mumbles absently.

He reminds Jawn of himself when he was younger. It's so easy to picture him, with that hoodie and that slouch, with a cigarette stuck between his teeth and a lighter flicking on and off in his hand. He doesn't have either of those things, but Jawn can see it. He's got an edge.

“Do you have a name?” Jawn blurts out.

He didn't really mean to say anything. He hadn't planned on asking, it just sort of… slipped out. That was probably rude. The witch seems surprised, as he looks up at Jawn with a slightly startled expression.

“No one’s ever asked me that before,” he says. “But people call me the Cornerwitch.”

“I know that,” Jawn says. “What about before you started doing this? What do _you_ call yourself?”

The witch seems to study Jawn for a moment, and then he grins. “I have a name. You don't need to know it. Names have power, y’know.”

“They do?”

The witch nods. “They say if you know a faerie’s true name, you have power over them. And vice versa. They say you should never give your real name to the fair folk.”

Jawn frowns. “You're… you're not a faerie, are you?”

“Nope. I believe it, though. That names are powerful.” The witch shrugs. “But enough about me. What are you here for this time?”

Jawn hesitates. If he's being honest, he never has a real pressing request in his mind when he comes to see the witch. He's just drawn here, and when the witch asks, things just… come tumbling out. Things he didn't even know were bothering him.

“I feel so empty all the time now,” Jawn admits. “I feel… cold. Always cold. I can't help but wonder if… if maybe it's the magic?”

“It's not the magic,” the witch says immediately. “My magic doesn't do that. But it can fix it. What’s your price?”

Jawn considers this. He could offer the rosary given by his grandmother that's stuffed in his pocket as he'd planned. Three generations of prayer is good, sure, but he can think of something better. He doesn't know why, but it just feels right.

“You said names are powerful, right?” He glances up at the witch, who watches him with interest. “You can have my name if it's worth something.”

There’s a sudden silence between the two of them. Then, the witch cracks a smile and lets out a short laugh. “Shit, man, you're smart. Or maybe really stupid, I can't tell. You know how to impress a guy.”

Jawn can feel his cheeks growing hot, and drops his gaze to the ground. “Look, I have something else if you don't—”

“No, no, you've got the right idea,” the witch assures him. “That's one hell of a trade, but if you're willing to pay it… I'll take it.”

It's starting to sink in, how much names really matter to this guy, but… something just feels _right_ about it. Jawn feels a little strange, sure, but not at all apprehensive. It's easy to just… give it to him.

“My name is Jawn. Jawn Rocha.”

“Jawn.” The witch smiles, and this time it's genuine. “I like that name. It suits you. Here, just a sec—”

Jawn's expecting him to conjure something from thin air like he always does. Instead, he pushes himself off the wall and starts to tug off his hoodie. He's wearing a baby pink sweater underneath. Jawn wonders if, like the hoodie and the shoes, that's what he always wears.

“Wait,” Jawn says quietly. “Won't you get cold?”

“Maybe a little,” the witch answers, pulling the hoodie off his shoulders. “But not like you do.”

Jawn can't tell if _you_ refers to himself and the hollowness in his chest, or the human race in general. Maybe witches have spells so as not to feel the cold.

“Here.” The witch tosses Jawn the jacket. “This'll keep you warm, in more ways than one. The pockets are never empty—” he pulls a vial of who-knows-what from the front pocket to prove it— “So you won't be either."

Jawn looks down at the hoodie in his arms. “Good Charlotte, huh?”

It’s the witch’s face that tints pink this time. “They make good music.”

It's already warm, probably just from the witch’s body heat. But just holding it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of him, like a physical burden has disappeared.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

The witch smiles. “Thank _you_ , Jawn. For trusting me.”

Jawn wasn't aware he had trusted him with anything. If he has, he doesn't regret it for a moment.

_____

The hoodie lasts longer than the candle _and_ the ring. It’s kind of funny. Jawn was never even really all that into Good Charlotte. The people around him must think he’s a fucking superfan. He stays wrapped up in the hoodie for days on end. It gives off the same comfort that a weighted blanket might, soft and warm like a tight embrace. It works perfectly for weeks. After he puts it through the wash for the first time and it still remains just as comforting, Jawn starts to get the feeling it might never wear off. The magic of the jacket is strong, and it just might stick around for good. For all intents and purposes, it does what it’s supposed to do.

But it’s not enough.

A part of Jawn knows that the problem is not with the hoodie, but with him. The jacket fills in the gaps where his friends can’t. It’s warm and heavy and comfortable. He feels a little less lonely when he’s alone. But if he’s completely honest, it’s not what he wanted. It’s what he asked for, but it’s not what he wanted. He wanted something else from the Cornerwitch, but he’s not so sure if he’s ready to admit that. He knows full well what will fill the hole he feels in his chest.

The night he realizes this, he slips the ring back on his finger and grabs the candle off his desk before he leaves the apartment.

The alley is the hardest to find this time around. It's nearly an hour Jawn spends wandering the city before he stumbles across it. Even then, he knows he's in the right place, couldn't mistake it, but… the witch isn't there. Jawn hovers uncertainly at the opening of the alley, searching the shadows.

“Cornerwitch?” He calls tentatively.

There's no answer.

Jawn doesn't know what to do. He hadn't planned for this. Does he leave? Does he wait? He didn't think the witch ever left this place. Logically, he must sometimes, but magical people don't exactly follow logic, so—

“Three visits is traditional.” A voice comes echoing out of the alley.

The witch emerges from the shadows. He looks tired, but he still manages to flash Jawn a smile. Jawn feels like he can breathe again.

“Jawn,” the witch sighs. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

“I didn’t expect to come back,” Jawn admits. He does his best to quell the nervous tremor in his voice. “But I felt like I had to. I brought you a candle that brings light to the dark, and a ring for seeing lies, and a hoodie for warmth.”

The witch looks up at him, a slight frown on his face. He's confused. “You—”

“Here's the thing, though,” Jawn says, and suddenly it's now or never. “What I want isn't something that can be bought or traded for. It's something that's given.”

It takes a moment, but realization soon dawns on the witch. He stands there slightly open-mouthed, staring at Jawn while he processes.

“I’d… also maybe like to know your name,” Jawn admits with a laugh. “If you trust me with it.”

The witch’s smile, Jawn is positive, is brighter than the candle had ever been. Even so, they both stand in silence for a moment. Jawn doesn’t dare say another word.

“Awsten,” the witch finally whispers. “My name is Awsten.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but in that moment, it’s the most amazing name Jawn’s ever heard. Awsten ( _god_ , it feels so good to put a name to the face that hasn’t left his head for weeks) steps forward and brings his hands up to frame Jawn’s face. They’ve never been this close to each other before. Every inch where they touch feels electrified, and Jawn really can’t say if it’s his own nerves or the magic that lives on Awsten’s skin. Awsten’s eyes are two different colors, blue and green swirling together in a way that’s not entirely human. He’s beautiful.

“Look at you,” Awsten says fondly. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“I don’t care,” Jawn replies firmly. “I’d deal with anything if it means I can see you again.”

Awsten huffs out a laugh and ducks his head down. “Y’know? I was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

He guides Jawn's face closer to his own, but Jawn is the one to finally close the gap and kiss him. His hands find Awsten's waist and grip tight, pulling him in closer. Awsten tastes like citrus and something distinctly magical. They fit together like they were made for each other, and who knows? In a world like this, perhaps they were. All Jawn knows is that he could lose himself in Awsten forever and never regret a second of it.

_____

They call them the Cornerwitches. The green-haired one is the only one with the magic, but the red-haired one knows the value of a trade. They are two sides of the same coin, and if you cross one, you cross the other. They’re easy to find, really, if you know where to look. 

Jawn no longer needs to go looking.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading.
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr @peachluhbotomy
> 
> more things coming soon (hopefully)


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